The spirits of the deceased inside this particular Manor House find no surcease from their sorrow...

Beyond a set of wrought iron gates,

The most terrific terror lies in wait.

Inside the house that contains the dead,

The spirits wait for a page from a tome to be read.


Their whispering voices can be heard,

Whenever the guards at the gate are stirred. 

For, they are damned to protect the house, 

And all those who dwell within its walls!


For, once a mere mortal passes through the gate, 

The most enthusiastic euphoria lies in wait.

The hope of these spirits has never died. 

Despite the bells that tolled, that lied.


The one who promises their salvation, 

Must have a strength to overcome emotion.

For the longing would crush any weak willed wanderer. 

The strength must be enough to never squander. 


No thieves can survive once inside the manor, 

Or face elimination in the most egregious manner. 

For once an item from the house is taken, 

Something far more valuable from them will be token. 


"Bewaaaare the darkness! Bewaaaare! Bewaaaare!

This cuuuurse must be liiiiifted!

Pleeaasse! You must nooot be scaaaared! 

Before the back wall is shifted!


You must releeeeaassee uuuus!!

We muuussst be freeed! Pleeeassee!"

Upon the wall that is ruined, nearly broken, 

Is a tome from which powerful words must be spoken." 


No spirit or corpse can resurrect its powers. 

Only a mortal can conjure the light that embowers. 


Upon the back wall is the following curse, 

sorrow inflicted by its every verse:


"The beings who dwell within this manor, 

Shall become a victim of their own valour. 

When their lives end, they shall not leave. 

Eternal punishment they shall receive. 


Whence comes the last beat of their hearts, 

The punishment for their crimes shall start. 

For, first their souls shall be bound by chains. 

Second, they shan't be accepted on spiritual planes. 


The clock shall stop and time shall not pass. 

Inside the manor, the length shall be vast. 

Beneath this inscription lies a tome. 

That can only be read by those flesh and bone."


Centuries shall pass and the hands shall be still. 

Mocking faces appearing at each windowsill. 

When peering unto a forgotten mirror, 

All they shall see is their corpse's pale pallor. 


The punishment for their crimes is dear. 

For now they exist in eternal fear. 

That they shall never be released, 

and from their sorrow, they shall find no surcease. 

The End

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